The Fall of Ossard ot-1

by Colin Tabor

  They nodded and left me to lead the way.

  We got to my home to find it secure and quiet. I unlocked the door and led them in, directing them through to the courtyard; it was the only place I’d be able to talk to all of them when gathered. I hadn’t counted, but I guessed that they now numbered about two score or more.

  A voice exclaimed from the kitchen, “What’s all this?” It was Sef.

  I laughed as I got Baruna to lead on the others, telling her, “Kurt’s in the stables, tell him you’re my guests.” I rushed into the kitchen to find Sef standing over the cooking fire where he tended a stew.

  He smiled, but gestured to the parade of silhouettes passing behind me. “What’s going on?”

  “They followed me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It started at the square.”

  “One of them was with you at the opera house?”

  “Yes, Baruna. I’ve asked nothing of them, and they just want to follow me – ever since my casting.”

  “Yes, the casting…” he sounded troubled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Didn’t you sense it?”

  “Sense what?”

  “The strangeness of the casting, of the blessing Schoperde gave you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” But my doubts began to stir.

  “Well…” he began, but his voice faded as he looked over my shoulder.

  I turned to find Marco.

  He said, “They’re gathered.”

  “I’ll be out soon.”

  He left, so I turned back to Sef. “What?”

  The Kavist stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders as he met my gaze. “Juvela, for a while you thought you were to be a witch like your grandmother, today you thought you were a daughter of Schoperde, but now I suggest that you are in fact something else.”

  I began shaking my head from side to side as I stepped back and pushed his hands away. “Sef, I am of Schoperde. I handled her blessings. I know that I’ve never known a lot of her or been particularly devout, but today I felt her grace!”

  “Juvela, I don’t doubt you felt something. She’s a god, the god of life, and the one who also oversees the birth of new deities.”

  I tensed as my apprehension grew. “What are you saying?”

  His eyes sparkled as the big Flet struggled to hold back tears. “Juvela, someone has to shepherd in the new.”

  “But I feel a link to her!”

  “Juvela, I’m just a mortal priest, but you’re an avatar; the seed of a god yet to be born. You know that and so do I. Your soul is too old, textured, and layered for it to be anything else. It’s strong, so strong that none in this city who’d have reason to harm you prior to your awakening have been able to.”

  “But Schoperde gave me the means to save all those people?”

  “Your blessing did save many, and it was good and pure, but it wasn’t of Schoperde.”

  I shook my head in anger at these new questions and the confusion they brought. “If not of Schoperde, then who?”

  “You.”

  I was a god?

  He went on, “Sweet Juvela, your soul’s awakening. Now and in this life-time you’re going from an avatar to the divine!”

  I snapped, “Stop it! I’m sick of this! And in the end what does it matter?”

  He dropped to his knees in front of me. “Juvela, think of it: The city is dying, just like cities have died before amidst upheaval and bloody chaos – and from the greatest of those ruins always have arisen new gods.”

  I shook my head in disbelief at the connection he was making. “Are you saying that people are dying because of me?”

  “No! I’m saying that when cities the size of Ossard, cities rich in souls, fall, that it can uplift avatars to see them awakened into godhood. Who knows how many avatars walk the world, but right now you’re the strongest in Ossard. During the coming soul harvest, when all that gathered power begins overflowing, it’s going to find you.”

  I was horrified at the very notion.

  He went on, “Look at the Heletians’second god, Saint Baimio…”

  I laughed, a harsh sound in my upset. “The Heletians only have one god, Krienta!”

  “Yes, they don’t call Baimio a god because of their dogma, they call him a saint, but they raise him above all others by naming him the son of Krienta, their creator. Well, once he was mortal. We’ve heard their Church’s tales, and not all of them are lies. He came into his power during the fall of Bar-Mor, the mountain city of the giants.”

  Was he comparing me to Saint Baimio? “Sef, this is crazy…”

  “And the gargoyle god of Dorloth, she arose from the fall of Quersic Quor of the Lae Velsanan’s Second Dominion of Kalraith.”

  “Sef, this is too much! Some of what you say makes sense, but linking it to me? I don’t want to be a part of it. You’re saying that I’m going to profit from the death of the city.”

  “I’m not saying you’re responsible. I’m just saying that as an avatar all that’s going on in the city might see you awakened.”

  “No, it can’t be true!”

  “Look at the people who’ve followed you here. Look at me!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Juvela, I’m a priest of Kave with my soul and service vowed to him, yet here I am serving you! I want to. No, I need to! To be here to help, to see you through this.”

  “I don’t need your help,” my voice broke as I spoke, disturbed by my surging emotions. Was I having such an effect on people? What a sickening thought, yet the courtyard stood full of proof.

  He shook his head, “Juvela, you must understand; myself and those in the courtyard follow you because our souls demand it. Your mere presence has broken our old allegiances and replaced them with something new.”

  I was frightened by his words – and that they stank of an uncomfortable truth.

  Damn it, what did it matter?

  What mattered was that the good people in Ossard survived the coming turmoil – and we had more chance of doing it together. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “I’m changed, it’s true, but all I can say is that I’ll try to do the right thing. I’ve heard you, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He nodded and got back to his feet as he gave me a grin.

  I hugged him, sensing his love and devotion. Those feelings had been a part of my life for so long. They gave me courage as they flooded me with reassurance. I giggled, for a moment again that little girl who loved his stories of adventure and his bawdy songs.

  He chuckled and said, “You should go to them now.”

  I nodded and turned for the courtyard. Despite the moment of warmth, it seeped away as quickly as it had come, dragged under by thoughts of a city dying so that I might be a god.

  They waited in silence, some standing around the edge of the courtyard while others sat on the cobbles. Kurt was amongst them. He gave me a knowing smile and a quick nod.

  I walked to the centre of the yard, it ruddily lit by the flaring amber glow reflected from the pall hanging above. Again I hadn’t planned what to say, but this wasn’t a time for flowery speeches.

  I looked about at their faces, taking confidence in their souls’pure taste. Whatever I might be, at least I knew that these people were good and true. Finally my gaze came to rest on Sef where he stood in a doorway. I said, “I want to welcome you to my home, though it seems we’ve already outgrown it.”

  Some of them laughed.

  “I want to speak to you of many things, but one foremost: Of working to keep each other safe in a city falling apart…”

  I talked to them for a good while, including some of what Felmaradis had told me in hushed Flet. As I spoke others joined us, shown in by Sef. Where they came from I didn’t know, yet their purity also shone through.

  It was the beginning of something; it was undeniable.

  There was good left in the city, maybe not enough to save it, but certainly en
ough worth saving.

  I spent the next part of the evening organising the household to cope with so many guests. The arrangements were temporary and we all knew it. One way or another we wouldn’t be here in a few more nights, for in time Newbank would also be consumed by the fighting.

  Before long bedrooms became dormitories, along with storerooms, and much of the living space. The kitchen bustled with the making of bread and the stewing of broth to serve close to a hundred. The cellar was emptied and aired, and then prepared as a serving space for meals. Only the stables remained free on the far side of the courtyard. If I had to, I’d give them over for more sleeping space, but for now I planned to use them as a store for what we gathered for our escape.

  Amongst all this activity I watched two Heletians struggle to lift a heavy chest; one stumbled as they carried it, seeing them drop it after only a few steps. It fell to the wooden floor with a great crash to leave a gouge across the boards. Mortified, the men cried out.

  I forced a smile and told them not to worry. Inwardly I shuddered as I thought of what Pedro would’ve said. Still, my husband’s biggest stir wouldn’t come of scratches on the floor or from scores of strange guests; it would be because of the changes wrought in me, and my unexpected fate.

  People settled in as best they could as I retreated to the only sanctuary that remained, my bedroom. I asked for Baruna, Marco, and Sef to join me. There was still much to discuss.

  As we gathered, I said, “Please sit.” And gestured to the bed.

  Sef and Marco hesitated with embarrassment.

  I laughed. “I think we’re beyond polite niceties, please, there’s nowhere else for us to speak.” The two men looked to each other before finally sitting down. In the meantime I pulled across a stool for Baruna. She gestured for me to take it, but I waved her offer away. I felt the need to pace.

  Sef said, “So where do we begin?”

  I looked from him to Baruna and Marco. “Well, we’ve all met this day, but neither Sef nor I know much about yourselves. Why don’t you share with us how you came to be here?”

  Shyly, Baruna looked to each of us, her nerves showing.

  Marco offered, “I’ll go first if you’d like?”

  Baruna shook her head. “Please, I need to tell my story, and now that I’m given the chance I feel I have to grab it.”

  Marco nodded.

  She took a deep breath. “My life started simply enough. I was raised by my family, large and loving, deep in the valleys where we lived in a poor farming hamlet.” And her eyes softened along with her nerves. “You know the sort, it struggling on amidst the ruins of an old and abandoned mining town. There wasn’t a lot of good land up that way, just slivers alongside the river, but it was enough. Besides, those abandoned towns might have run out of silver and been poor in farmland, but they’re still rich in one thing; well-crafted buildings. Mining towns grow quickly and die faster, but while they live their hearts know how to beat. Those old stone halls, taverns, and merchant houses just sit there waiting for families to come and warm them.

  “When my family arrived there a few generations back they managed to settle into one of the larger buildings that needed some work. It was a great home, solid against the valley winters, and one envied by many of our neighbours after we’d re-roofed and mended it.

  “It’s much the same across the Northcountry; hundreds of poor farming villages, some born-again mining settlements, and a few small towns – all there to serve this city’s hungry markets.”

  She smiled with her memories. “Growing up in such a place, in our big stone hall, surrounded by terraced fields while tending our goats was a blessing.”

  She paused to look at each of us, her eyes now sharp; she was going to share her pain. “But, it ended.

  “One summer, my grandmother took sick with a fever, it wasted her body and filled her lungs. She died after a long season of agony, one where the sickness seemed to peak and then fade, only to come back stronger before finally dragging her away. Yet the fever hadn’t finished with us. My twin brothers and mother also fell ill. They tried to fight it off, but also failed. It left my father, a brother, and myself to bury them.

  “We couldn’t handle our land, not when we were down four sets of hands. It became a struggle, one that drained us. All the while our neighbours, who might have otherwise helped, had begun to shy away; the local priest had spread rumours about us.”

  I asked, “What did he say?”

  “He said my grandmother dabbled in the old ways, in green witchery. He even suggested that she’d ruled over our household and conducted rituals to win our family favour.”

  Sef cursed; as Flets in Ossard we’d all seen the hard face of the Church.

  Baruna said, “Some of our friends told us of his words – and others.”

  “What others?” I asked.

  “Our home had an unused wing that we’d walled off inside its wide and high roofed frame. It was huge, almost like a small noble’s house, and the most impressive building in the village. Some said the priest wanted it to use as a new home, and the vacant wing as a church.”

  Marco said, “There was a time when I’d thought the men of Krienta were noble and just…”

  Baruna snapped, but not at Marco, “Noble and just? Our priest stood as a dishonourable man. He managed to have three sons despite his vow of celibacy, all to a Flet woman who lived not as his wife, but as his slave. He offered us no help or comfort, just threats of damnation!” She stopped to calm herself.

  “We relinquished some of our fields and sold some of our goats, yet we still struggled from chill dawn to cold mountain dusk.” She shook her head, her eyes glinting. Tears built there, getting ready to run.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued, “A season later, when we’d settled into a new routine, my younger brother also came down sick.”

  Marco sighed, but he wasn’t alone.

  I asked, “The same fever?”

  “Yes.”

  Sef shook his head.

  “It got worse. My brother died not long after, leaving my father and myself behind. The morning after we buried him, my father awoke with a chill, and by sunset was burdened by the same fever.

  “The priest offered no comfort, only more whispered words of dark curses and that he’d long suspected my grandmother of heresy.

  “My father’s sickness progressed quickly. He was dying, taxed by trying to manage our farm and broken by grief. A few days before the end, the priest came into our home saying it was important for my father’s salvation that he be close.

  “While he waited for my father to die, he counted our goats and checked over our fields. He made me cook for him, only to berate what I served and anything else I did. Finally, as my father lost his mind to the fever over one long, last night, the priest dared sit between him and me and slide his hand into my blouse. He told me he’d need to check me for corruption.” She looked to me, fierce in her anger. “I hated him!

  “Father died to leave me in a home I couldn’t hope to hold. The priest never left, and his sons settled themselves in before my father was even buried. I awoke the next night to find his eldest on top of me, trying to get me with child. Through my struggles I landed a knee to his manhood, giving me a chance to flee, so I fetched my family’s hidden savings and took to the road.

  “I had enough coin to get to the city and try and make my way, but it wasn’t easy. Once here, people saw me as young, unmarried, and without family, thinking me a thief, whore, or runaway. They never understood or believed what had happened, and never showed any interest in wanting to. So many years have passed since then that I’ve now spent as much time in Ossard as in the valleys, yet I’m still mostly alone.

  “That’s the way things have gone, with me doing odd jobs to earn coin and get by. Until I saw you.” She looked to me. “Straight away I felt some kind of kinship, like you were alone too.” She fell into an embarrassed silence.

  I stepped across to be beside her, putting
a hand to her shoulder to offer what comfort I could. As my hand touched her, power began to flow. It passed from my soul, through my body, and into her own. The feeling made me giddy.

  She smiled. A look of contentment came across her face, as if she’d slid into a warm and perfumed bath on the coldest of winter days.

  I patted her shoulder again in wonder at what had just happened.

  From Baruna came a feeling of thanks and trust. She had faith in me, in my care and compassion.

  Marco and Sef both whispered their own thanks for sharing her tale.

  She smiled anew, it something shy at first, but blooming with her natural beauty. I could also feel her spirit lighten, it euphoric with relief. Most of all she revelled in the knowledge that such lonely days were over.

  I said, “Thanks, Baruna, the more we understand each other the better we can work together.” I turned to Marco. “And you, Marco, tell us how you came to be here?”

  He looked about the room, his shoulders tensing as he gathered his thoughts. He began quietly, “I’ve lived all my life in Ossard, but also travelled much of the Northcountry as a child. My father was a merchant dealing in silks, cloth, and leathers, which he sold from the back of his cart. While he had some coin it was never enough to stop the valley rounds. He worked hard, but was always too ready to help a friend or do a special deal on a bolt for a needy widow or new bride. In the end, he was a generous man, but no Merchant Prince.” Marco looked to Baruna. “We went everywhere, so I imagine we passed through your valley and perhaps your village.”

  Her eyes showed shadow as she remembered her home. “Minehead it is. A place that births such memories is never known by a good name.”

  Sef laughed, a hard and rough sound. “You’re so right! Have you ever heard of ill tidings from Paradise? It’s always the gloom of fever in Minehead, the failing of the Second Dominion of Kalraith centred in Quersic Quor, or the fall of the city-state of Ossard – also known as the Whore.”

  I gave a grim smile. “It’s true, isn’t it, there’s strength in names.”

  Baruna added, “And power.”

  I nodded. “Yes, but let’s get back to Marco, for we can’t let Baruna’s woe hang idle.“